


Mess is Mine

by sometimeseffable



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, au where anakin listens to everyone but palpatine and everyone is happy, obikin, sheev is a dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 10:55:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17282750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimeseffable/pseuds/sometimeseffable
Summary: "Oh, dear. He still doesn't trust you?"Palpatine tries to drive a wedge between Anakin and Obi-Wan. It doesn't work.





	Mess is Mine

Pleased to have his young friend home after so long on the front, the Chancellor had requested to see Anakin as soon as he was done debriefing Master Windu (for the council was spread too thin across the galaxy to hold a session this night). Disappointment soured his mood further upon realizing this meant he wouldn’t be able to see Obi-Wan tonight either. After so long apart, he’d take anything he could get, no matter how staticky the blue shadow of his Master may be.

“You seem troubled, my boy,” Palpatine commented, concern streaking his grandfatherly tone. They had been chatting for the better part of a half hour on the war, the Senate, Anakin’s progression as a Jedi. His dour mood must have shown through the pleasant mask he’d tried to sustain.

Anakin shook his head, attempting to clear memories of bloodied troops and charred civilians, Master Windu’s cold tone as he gave his report, Obi-Wan’s cutting disappointment the last time they’d comm’ed. “I’m just tired, your excellency. It’s been a long campaign.”

“Yes, of course, I read the reports, how awful our losses were on Rodinia. Tell me, how has Master Kenobi fared? I’ve not heard much of his successes since that awful business with that bounty hunter - oh, what was his name - Hardeen?”

_ Hardeen.  _ Old anger and pain dredged to the surface. “He’s -”

His comlink pinged annoyingly with a message. Anakin swallowed his anger.

“Fine, I think. I haven’t heard from him in a week.” Another ping, and then a third. “Excuse me, Chancellor.”

Palpatine made the appropriate remarks as Anakin pulled open the text feature on his comm. Three messages - his stomach flipped - all from Obi-Wan

_ Back on Coruscant. May have hacked datalogs to see if you landed tonight - OW _

_ Not a word about misusing my council clearances - OW _

_ Please come over later to talk - OW _

A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips - he never had managed to break Obi-Wan of his habit of signing off every text - even as the knot in his stomach tightened. Obi-Wan wanted to talk. He could imagine why; they’d fought the last time Anakin had checked in with him, the usual cyclical argument of  _ reckless behavior  _ and  _ you never trust me.  _ Followed, as usual, by several weeks of ice cold silence.

“Anakin?”

Only when Palpatine’s hand grasped his shoulder did Anakin realize the older man had been speaking to him. “My boy, are you all right?” Before he could shut off his comm, the Chancellor glanced down, skimmed the messages, and clucked his tongue.

“Oh, dear. He still doesn’t trust you?”

The familiar white noise of panic roared in his ears. What if Obi-Wan had had enough? Realized how young and immature Anakin really was and left him, cold, unloved, and alone? “We fought a few weeks ago.” The words were tight in his throat.

Rounding the desk, Palpatine perched on the arm of the chair next to him and regarded him with the serious, firm expression of utmost attention. “Tell me everything. Perhaps a lending ear could be of some comfort.”

With a deep breath, Anakin stabbed the message function closed on his comm. He looked up into concerned blue eyes and started talking.

* * *

 

Dusk had just cast a purple shadow over Coruscant when he left the senate rotunda. Anakin stalked through the Temple on autopilot, the dull, familiar roar of anger and hate curdling in his gut.  _ Hate is not the Jedi way.  _

Exhaustion tugged at him, wanting to drag him into the cool, dark respite of sleep. But he wouldn’t let it. Fury at Obi-Wan, at the Council, at the Force itself for making him this way swirled in his head. 

He punched in the code to Obi-Wan’s quarters, ready to see his former master standing cold and aloof in the sitting room, to hurl insults and receive in turn dispassionate remarks,  _ you never loved me, never cared for me, could never break your precious Code - _

Obi-Wan was not in the sitting room. Nor was he sat at the small dining table, arms cross, scowl furrowing his brows.

“Anakin?”

Soft golden light poured from the kitchen doorway. Anakin cautiously approached, like a nexu circling the edge of a hunting trap. 

Obi-Wan was dressed down to his undertunics, the armor and robes of Master Kenobi discarded, boots set neat by the door. One hand was bandaged to the wrist (bandaged, not plasticast, not broken), fiddling with a datapad while the other stirred a large pot on the stove. Familiar scents of spices and cream and frying fats filled his nose, soothing the burn, whispering  _ home _ .

Copper glinted as Obi-Wan tossed a smile over his shoulder. “I hope you haven’t eaten yet. I meant to explain on the comm, but then I cut my hand dicing those blasted tubers.” He nodded to the knife in the sink and turned back to the pot with a sheepish shrug. “I thought your favorite meal might be nice after so long out in the Rim. And I - well, I felt awful leaving things the way we did. I suppose this is my apology.”

The cresting tsunami of anger ready to strike all but dissipated. The Chancellor’s concerned murmurs over Master Kenobi’s ability to care for him, to put aside his strict demeanor, to show loyalty to anyone but the Council, melted in the face of his Obi-Wan. Soft, cheery in his tunics and socks, taking the time to make Anakin’s favorite dish despite that the stress of the war and his duties were clearing weighing on him in the prominent gray at his temples, the tension in his shoulders. Hacking the datalogs to see if Anakin had made it home intact and alright, even though such was clearly a misuse of the powers granted by his seat on the Council because they were both  _ alive,  _ home and safe together after so long apart.

Heart thudding against his ribs, Anakin could barely think over the rush of emotion - anger, hate, joy, love, fear. When he failed to respond, Obi-Wan turned back to him with a small frown. “Anakin? Are you alright?”

Unthinking, Anakin took the four steps between them in two strides and wound his arms around Obi-Wan’s chest, holding on for dear life. Obi-Wan froze, then carefully reached to turn off the heat as Anakin buried his face in the crook of his neck.

“It’s alright, dear one,” he murmured. The endearment only made Anakin tighten his hold. Hands came up to stroke Anakin’s back and tangle in his hair. There were no questions, no demanding of answers. Just Obi-Wan holding him tight as all the feelings bottled up inside were released into the Force all at once, leaving him nonverbal and shaking. “Shh, it’s alright. I have you. My dear.”

Anakin kept them there, breathing in the earthy scent of sweat and the spice of cologne, arms tight like he’d resolved never to let go. Eventually, gentle hands pulled his head away from Obi-Wan’s neck, which was more than a little damp. They cupped either side of his face, thumbs swiping beneath his eyes. Obi-Wan’s face was a mix of deep concern and soft love.

“Hello there,” he whispered, teasing a watery half smile from Anakin, “Would you like to tell me what has you so upset?”

_ Good question _ . What  _ had  _ prompted such a severe outburst? “I just - I think maybe I should start listening to the Chancellor with a grain of salt.”

To his surprise that made Obi-Wan toss back his head and laugh; a warm, rich sound that made Anakin’s heart flutter. Lost under the duress of war, Anakin resolved to coax that joy from him as often as possible.

“Yes, I suppose you should.” Obi-Wan’s eyes twinkled. Another surprise as he lifted up on his toes quickly to press a kiss to Anakin’s cheek. “I’d like to talk more about that later. Perhaps some stew will help for now?”

Anakin smiled as Obi-Wan turned back to the pot. Wrapped his arms around his former Master’s waist and buried his nose in soft ginger hair, the smell and sound of bubbling Bantha stew already calming his frazzled nerves. 

Palpatine was a most trusted confidant. But the old man was biased towards Anakin - he didn’t  _ know  _ Obi-Wan like he did, didn’t get to see this side of his secret lover. It was a ruse Obi-Wan insisted he play lest the Chancellor spill his concerns to the Council, who would certainly move to tear them apart. No; as much as Anakin trusted Palpatine, he trusted Obi-Wan  _ more _ . Whatever made his love happy, he was glad to follow along.

Tucked beneath his chin, Obi-Wan let devious smirk spread across his face. Concern for Anakin’s wellbeing had quickly been overshadowed by a cold, simmering rage at one Sheev Palpatine. Oh, he was sure the Chancellor had laid down some powerful cards this evening. But Obi-Wan was a master at sabaac; he had quite a few tricks up his sleeve. He was patient. He would play the oblivious, hauty Jedi Master for the dear Chancellor’s benefit. And he was intent on winning.

After all, there were few moves he wasn’t willing to play to keep his beloved safe.

_ Try to take my Anakin, will you?  _ he thought, reaching up to card a hand through Anakin’s unruly curls,  _ I think not.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan knows how to play the game (and yes, I totally see him as a hopeless Baby Boomer texter).  
> Updates for anyone following along my fic Ties that Bind - new chapter should be up soon, as well as another work I've been sketching out. Here's some fluff for now.


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